


Pulling my Weight in Gold

by theshipshipper



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Violence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Modern Westeros AU, Moving On From the Past, Multi-POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-04-02
Packaged: 2019-09-16 19:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16960338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipshipper/pseuds/theshipshipper
Summary: Home is a place she's lost, something she thought she can never get back. Home is a place he's never had, not until moving to Winterfell.But maybe home isn't a place at all.---She paused for a moment, thoughtful. “JonSnow. What’s the story behind that?”He studied her and he realized for the first time that maybe she’s just as curious about him. It’s not a surprise. What were the odds of their paths crossing again after King’s Landing?It seems their fates are meant to remain intertwined.“It was my mother’s name. Lyanna Snow. When I came here I wanted to be someone else. I figured Jon Snow would have less responsibilities, less baggage. No family complications that make his head roll.” He smiled humorlessly. “How about you -- where did you go after King’s Landing?”---Title from: Weight in Gold - Gallant





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, fun fact: this is actually the first ever jonsa fic I wrote but I never published it until now. If you saw the original version, you'll understand why. Here's to hoping this edited version is much better hahaha.
> 
> Anyway, I have a playlist for this fic and I'll link it here later. Check back if you're interested.
> 
> ALSO: Tags will be added as the story progresses so check back to that for your own safety. (I'm still finalizing where I want this to go so I'll update the tags as soon as I figure it out.)
> 
> Thank you!

**Jon**  

Jon kicked one of the cans littered on the ground, watched it roll off noisily before it disappeared somewhere in the dark alley ahead. Faintly, he could still hear Jon Connington speaking on the phone, but he's got it far enough from his ear that he doesn't have to listen to the man drawl on and on about the responsibilities Jon is apparently _shirking_. 

He almost laughed. This kind of bullshit actually used to work on him. All Connington had to do was remind him of how disappointed Rhaegar would be if he found out Jon wasn’t doing enough for the family, and like an idiot, Jon would dive back into the games and chaos. All so his father might one day look at him like he actually meant something to the man. 

He sighed, breath misting as he does, and contemplated throwing his phone away to just get this conversation over with. He'd thought getting as far away from King's Landing would mean getting away from this bullshit but apparently not. Somehow, it just follows him around. 

"Mr. Targaryen," he could hear Connington mutter impatiently through the phone in the quiet of the night. "Did you hear what I said?" 

Jon rolled his eyes, pressing the phone back against his ear. "Yeah, I heard," he lied. Not that it's anything worth listening to, really. He's had this conversation so many fucking times he swears he can hear it in his sleep. "And like I said, anytime Rhaegar finds himself in Winterfell, I'd be more than willing to meet with him. Otherwise..." Fuck off, he wanted to say. But it's rude and it isn't really something he'd say to his father, no matter how frustrating being his son becomes, so instead he says, very politely, "Otherwise, I don't see it happening." 

Jon made it very clear before leaving King's Landing that he wanted nothing to do with the Targaryen empire anymore. He'd sent in his resignation, damn it, and he watched his own father approve it right in front of him, so he's not sure what's suddenly so confusing about it. 

"Your father has very important matters to discuss with y -" 

Jon huffed in annoyance, pushing his phone away again. They just keep circling back to the same point over and over and never getting anywhere. 

"Seven hells, don't you get tired of having this conversation with me? It's midnight and you're still working. You're not his slave, Connington. Look, I don't care, okay? I've got my own life now and he's got Aegon, he doesn't need me. Now, will you just leave me the fu -- " 

"Mr. Targa - " 

"Hey, Snow," Grenn called from the back door, looking at him sheepishly. "It's getting a little crowded inside. We could use a hand." 

Jon nodded to Grenn, dropping his phone to his chest. "I'll be right in."  

He waited until Grenn headed back in before taking a deep breath, a bid to let his anger subside.

Maybe he does know what this is all about; the only reason Rhaegar didn’t stop him when Jon decided to leave was because he expected him to run back to King’s Landing as soon as he came calling. That’s what Jon has always done. He didn’t like disappointing his father. 

From the time that he was young, he’d done all he could to get Rhaegar’s approval. He was only the mistress’ son, that had been clear from the moment he stepped into his father’s home, but he thought proving himself useful would’ve made up for whatever it was that his father found lacking. 

He slaved himself away for the love he may never actually get. 

Jon knows better now, though. 

He pressed his phone against his ear again. "Look, I'm busy. Can you just pass along the message and be done with it?" 

Connington sighed on the line. "Alright. I'll tell your father of your final decision." 

"Awesome," he said before hanging up, feeling as though that single phone conversation alone had drained all his energy away. He shook his head and let out a deep breath, trying to push away his irritation before going back into the bar. 

The bar has indeed gotten crowded in the fifteen minutes or so that he'd stepped out to take the call from Connington, so he immediately headed behind the bar and started serving the patrons near him. 

He's actually a bit grateful that it’s busy tonight, or else he'd have to listen to his own thoughts, battling against himself if he’s actually doing the right thing, and gods know he's tired of that. 

He's managed to slip into his life here in Winterfell much easier than with the life he had in King's Landing. He knew he never belonged there; the people around him made sure to make him feel like an outsider. Anyone who treated him well only did it because he was a Targaryen, still. Albeit a bastard son. 

The only reason he stayed for so long was because he felt like he owed it to his father to live up to his expectations, but Jon could never quite match up. 

He never would've been able to live up to it, anyway. It has always been Aegon who was going to follow in Rhaegar Targaryen's giant footsteps - so all the better that Jon did leave when he did, so he could try and find a place for himself in this world. 

And, dare he say it at the risk of jinxing it, he finally found it. Eight months of living in Winterfell and he'd never once regretted it. 

 _Nor would I ever_ , he thinks as his hand thoughtlessly reached for the ring on the necklace tucked underneath his shirt.  _This is my home now, just as it was once hers._  

In Winterfell, he’s only Jon Snow. Son of no one, beholden to none. He was free to be whoever he wanted to be, if he ever figured it out. 

 

His shift ends sometime before three, much later than usual, but he doesn’t really mind. 

He patted Thoros on the back as he exited the bar. “See you tomorrow, Thor.” 

Thoros nodded. “Aye, Snow.” 

His apartment is only a couple blocks away from town so he usually walked after work. He’s a few buildings away when he spotted someone making their way up his apartment building. 

From where he is, he thinks it’s a girl. She’s struggling to haul her luggage up the stone stairs, a phone squeezed between her ears. She must be the new tenant in 4A the landlord had mentioned.  

Coming closer, Jon called for her attention. “Excuse me, you need a hand?”  

The sound startled her and she flinched in surprise. He backed away apologetically, hands raised in surrender. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Jon, I live here. 4B.” 

She turned to look at him finally and it’s his turn to be startled. 

He knows her. 

From the look on her face, she seems to be thinking the same thing. 

“Uh, hi,” he said awkwardly, only just regaining his composure. “You’re the new tenant?” 

She nodded. “You live here?” 

“Yeah. 4B,” he repeated. “Can I help you with your bags?” 

She bit her lip hesitantly. “If you don’t mind?” 

“Not at all.” He took the luggage from her hand so she could get the few bags she’s left at the bottom of the stairs. As she did, he could hear a muffled voice speaking from her phone. 

“It’s my new neighbor, I guess,” she said into her phone, probably as an answer to a question he didn’t hear. “It’s fine, I kind of know him - no, you don’t, he’s, uh — I’ll explain later, okay? I gotta go.” 

She offered him a smile and they headed inside together.  

He can’t say he ever expected to see Sansa Stark in Winterfell, of all places. Southerners tend to be haughty when it came to the North. 

“I didn’t know you left King’s Landing,” she said, probably only making conversation. 

No, she wouldn’t have known that he left. He kept it pretty quiet, with only a handful of people who knew, and they weren’t particularly close for him to tell her. 

She was Margaery’s friend, not his, and the only thing he thought they had in common was hiding in corners at whatever social event they both attended. 

“I heard you disappeared,” he replied, recalling the scandalous reports that followed after her breakup with Joffrey. “Where’s your mystery lover?” 

She scowled. “That was a lie.” 

He chuckled, “Of course I know.” He’s probably one of the few who knew the truth of what actually happened. “It’s my fault, after all.” 

She turned to look at him, a curious look on her face. 

He lifted a shoulder. “Margaery wouldn’t have tried to seduce Joffrey if I hadn’t broken up with her.” Jon rolled his eyes. “She’s an ambitious girl.” 

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “Then I suppose I have you to thank,”  

She doesn’t sound sarcastic; it sounds like she actually meant it. Still, he doesn’t know how to respond to that. 

They stop in front of her door after coming out of the elevator, his own apartment just at the other end of the hall. 

“Thanks for the help,” she told him with a smile. 

He nodded. “No problem. Welcome to Winterfell, Sansa.” 

  

  

 **Sansa**  

“So, how’s Winterfell?” Arya asked once she’d called her back later in the morning. 

To Sansa’s surprise, she managed to fall asleep as soon as she climbed into bed. Falling asleep has become difficult as of late, but it seems the five-hour flight from the Vale to Winterfell Airport, as well as the cab ride to her new place, had exhausted her enough that she didn’t have the energy to overthink anything. 

“I don’t know yet,” she answered honestly. “I’ve only been here for ten hours and most of those I spent sleeping. I’ll have to tell you after I’ve gone out to see for myself.” 

“Have you eaten, though?” Arya asked, concern clear in her voice. “Do you have food?” 

She smiled. Arya has been so worried about her ever since she said she wanted to move back to Winterfell. Apparently, that meant she wasn’t in the right mind. 

“Yeah, I’ve eaten. The place was already stocked up when I got here.” 

“Must’ve been Jory,” Arya said. “So... what now then? What’s your plan now that you’re back home?” 

Sansa chewed on her lip, startling at the word. She hadn’t thought of Winterfell as her home in a long time. 

 _Home_ has never been a place to her. Home was reading underneath a shade of a tree in the Hotsprings as her siblings dirtied themselves in the mud before jumping into the water. Home was helping her mother cook for the family and learning century old Tully recipes. Home was her and her siblings gathering in her father's study as he regaled them with tales of the Starks of the old. 

Home is broken now; scattered and missing important pieces she can never hope to get back. 

So... no. She isn't home, not truly - but Winterfell is the closest she could get to one. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ll have to figure it out first.” 

“Okay, well... just remember, my offer still stands. If it gets too much, you can live with me here in Braavos.” 

She smiled. “I know. You've only told me a hundred times.” 

She almost did take Arya up on that offer; after what happened in the Vale, Sansa felt out of options. She didn’t know what to do or where to go, Arya’s offer seemed to be the best thing to do. 

But she knew that if she ran away again then she would never stop; she couldn’t keep moving from place to place, hoping to run away from her past. It never worked; all she kept doing was finding monsters worse than the last. 

Jory Cassel, her father’s old head of security, came by to check on her later in the afternoon. Technically, he still works for the Starks, but it isn’t part of his job to worry over her like this. 

“How’s the place?” He asked, handing her a basket of fruit. “Tell me if you need anything, I’ll take care of it.” 

Sansa’s glad to see he isn’t pissed that she came earlier than planned and didn’t tell him. He’d been insistent that he’d fetch her at the airport, having already guided her every step of the way as she prepared to move back to Winterfell, but Sansa’s used to taking care of herself. Jory doesn't have to do it out of guilt. 

“I can take care of myself,” she told him. 

He sighed, scratching his head. “Of course you can but it’s still my job.” 

She doesn’t reply. 

It  _was_  his job; she wants to remind him. Not anymore. But old habits die hard, Sansa supposed. 

Jory’s been with their family for so long she doubts he knows to do anything other than take care of them. Even though he’s had no one but the estate to take care of in the last couple of years. 

“I told Beth you’re back,” he told her conversationally, referring to his niece. “I’m sure she’d love to catch up.” 

“Okay,” she said noncommittally. 

Jory sees right through her, seems to know she won’t take initiative. “I’ll text you her number so you can call her if you’re up for it.” 

Later, Beth texts her. 

 

 **Beth**    
Hey, Sansa. This is Beth.   
Beth Cassel.   
Uncle Jory gave me your number, I hope you don’t mind.   
Are you free tonight? I heard you’re back. Jeyne and I would love to catch up with you. :)   
   
Sansa read the texts a couple of times, trying to come up with a reply. 

She hasn’t spoken to either of them in over six years; she’s changed so much, just as she’s sure they both have, and she’s pretty sure this might be a bad idea. 

What would they even talk about? 

Still, even as she dreaded it, she found herself saying yes. 

Now that she’s well-rested and with nothing else to do, the anxiety had found its way into her mind. It would do well to keep herself preoccupied.  

They set up a time and place, agreeing to meet at The Crow’s Nest. It’s an old establishment in Winter Town, one Sansa’s never actially been to. She left Winterfell before she was even legal to drink, so it’s a little weird to be meeting her old friends at a place other than that diner that used to serve the best strawberry milkshake.  

For the second time that day, she saw Jon Snow. 

“We meet again,” he told her from behind the bar and she’s tempted to ask him why he’s even there. “What are you having?” 

“Lemon Drop,” she answered, automatic. “You work here?” 

The last she’s seen him was at one of Margaery’s parties. Sansa doesn’t like to think of that night but she remembered him clearly. 

She remembers him arriving later than usual, that determined look on his face. Usually he’d head straight to the kitchen for a drink and then start sulking on an unoccupied corner, but that night he immediately came up to Marg and pulled her aside for a private conversation. 

They were gone for a while, and then he left early, seeming more at ease than she’d ever seen him. Sansa doesn’t know him well but he’s not difficult to read. She knew what it meant immediately. 

She went looking for Margaery after he left, hoping to comfort her friend. She’s sure that Jon had broken up with her and she thought he was a dick for doing so at the time, but then she found Margaery in bed with her boyfriend and suddenly — 

Suddenly she’s had enough of King’s Landing. 

“Yeah, I do,” he told her with a nod, taking her out of her thoughts. “You settled in?” 

“I am, yeah.” She bit her lip, watching as he made her a drink. “How long have you been living here? I mean — if you don’t mind my asking.” 

He doesn’t seem to. “About eight months. It’s a pretty small town, completely different from you-know-where, but only in the best way possible. You’ll be okay here.” 

She stifled a smile. She can tell he’s trying to be friendly, trying to assure her that this is a better place than King’s Landing. She knows that already, but she still appreciates the gesture. 

“Nice to know,” she told him, accepting the drink he just finished making. “Thanks.” 

It’s odd, seeing him in Winterfell. of all places, but somehow it makes sense. He’s the most comfortable she’s ever seen him, like he belonged. 

“That’s Jon  _Snow_ ,” Beth tells her later, when she’s caught staring at him as he worked. “He’s from Dorne.” 

Sansa kept her face impassive; she knows that’s not true. “How do you know that?” 

Jeyne smiled. “From Alys Karstark. Not a lot of people move into town, you know. It’s easy to remember newcomers.” 

“Plus, he’s hot,” Beth added on a giggle. “It’s hard not to notice.” 

Sansa snuck a glance back at the bar where Jon is conversing with another bartender. She never really thought about it before; she always thought of him as off-limits, and noticing that he looked good wasn’t worth getting caught by Joffrey doing it, so she never paid him much attention. 

Now, though, staring at him unabashedly and seeing how relaxed and carefree he seems with where he is, she thinks,  _yeah_. 

And it’s even harder to look away. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited the first part to add in a bit more context so check that out first if you haven't,  
> Hope you guys enjoy!

**Sansa**  

The night is cold, her arm prickling as the cool air licked her skin. Somehow, Sansa found herself standing outside her childhood home in the dead of the night, wearing only a coat underneath her flannel pyjamas and with nothing but her phone and keys on her. 

It’s been hours since she went out drinking with Beth and Jeyne. She thought the night was going well; for the first time in years, she actually enjoyed herself. But then she went back to her place, drunk and alone, and suddenly she realized what a lie that was. 

After, she spent hours just tossing and turning on her bed, trying to make herself fall asleep before finally giving up. She had far too many thoughts in her mind, too many memories that won’t let her rest, and she decided a walk to clear her head was needed. 

How she ended up there, she’s not too sure. It’s as though her feet had a mind of its own. 

The last time she set foot in Winterfell, it was to bury her brother and mother. The only thing she remembers from that day was how sunny it was. A sharp contrast to the thunderous ache rolling in her heart.  

That was also be the last time she’d seen her siblings in person before they all went their separate ways; Bran and Rickon to the New Gift with Uncle Benjen, Arya to Braavos, and her back to King’s Landing. 

Now the home they had are left only with ghosts. And with her among them. 

“How did it all get so messed up?” She asked aloud, hoping for the ghosts to hear, even praying for them to answer her. 

She knows how it happened, though. She doesn't need anyone, not even the dead, to tell her that things went to shit the moment she left Winterfell for her to know it’s the truth. 

With a resigned sigh, she entered the house. It looks just as her mother always kept it, neat and classy, but it doesn’t feel the same. 

What made it home was the people who lived there, but they’re all gone now. 

It has been two years since her mother and brother’s passing, just shortly after her father’s, but the pain feels as fresh as the day she buried them. She hadn’t let herself dwell on it until now, with no other choice but to face the truth. 

When she was in King’s Landing, it had been easy to pretend that they were still alive and well. That the only reason she hasn’t heard from her brother was because he was busy with work, or that her mother was too preoccupied with wild little Rickon, or that her father was probably out on business. It was easier to lie to herself than to dwell on her loss. 

The tears began to fall without her realizing it, her chest aching as memories came flooding one after the other.  

She had wasted so much time chasing after a worthless dream; all she wanted when she left home was to be with Joffrey and live out her fantasy of a fairytale life. And look where it got her. 

What an idiot she was. 

The single thought opens a gate of unwanted memories, flooding her mind with series of flashes of things she would not have wanted to relive in the moment. Or in any moment, really. 

 _Darkness._ _Hands_ _where it shouldn’t be. A knife. Blood. Lots and lots of blood._  

She took a deep breath, hoping to make her racing heart slow down. When it doesn’t work, the obvious solution is to get out of there.  

So she ran. And she doesn’t stop until she no longer felt suffocated. 

She ends up somewhere in Winter Town. The air has become much colder now, but it’s comforting to her. Her father always told her that the cold was in their bones and winter in their souls.  

“We’re Starks, you see,” she remembers her father telling them. “Our blood is older than the Wall itself and as sturdy as the castle of Winterfell.” 

She always found it a little funny whenever her father said things like that, especially with a straight face, but now the memory helps ease the ache in her heart. 

She walked the remainder of the way home, distracted as she tried to recall more of her father’s sayings. She knows there were lots of them. She’s so focused on trying to remember at least one that she doesn’t even realize Jon Snow was there until he called out her name.  

She turned to him in surprise; he must’ve just gotten out of work.  

He held a hand up in greeting. “Hey. Couldn’t sleep?” 

“Nope.” 

She walked up the stairs, trying to be casual as she got closer to him. It’s dark out, he might not even notice how puffy her eyes are.  

“It’s the quiet,” he told her knowingly. “It takes some getting used to.” 

She tilted her head curiously, waiting for further explanation as they made their way into the building. 

“King’s Landing was always so loud and exhausting, you can’t even hear yourself think. In here, everything is so quiet and suddenly all you can hear are your thoughts.” 

She nodded in understanding. “Yeah, I guess that’s probably it.” 

He turned to her once they’ve reached the elevator and stopped. It took a moment, but he finally sees the state she’s in. She made a face. 

 “You okay?” 

She looked away, avoiding his gaze. “I’m fine.” 

It’s a lie and it’s obvious he sees through it. Not that she could’ve hidden it well, she can still feel her eyes stinging from her recent breakdown. She probably looked as terrible as she felt. 

She sighed when he only kept staring in concern, the mask falling off. “I’m just – I’m so fucking tired.” She tried to laugh it off but it comes out more like a cry. “I wish there was some sort of manual I could follow, you know? Make this hell of a world much easier to navigate.” She wiped away the tear that fell against her will. “Sorry. It’s – I’m sorry. I don’t know - I didn’t mean to word vomit on you.” 

“Hey, at least it’s not real vomit. I literally had to clean one up before I left the bar. There were like bits of unchewed food and -” 

To her own surprise, she burst out laughing. “Stop. That’s disgusting.” 

“Tell me about it,” He said, lips pulled up on a smile.  

When they finally reached their floor, Sansa found herself hesitant to go into her place, afraid to be alone again. But she’s used to that. 

“Sansa,” Jon called after her as she made her way to her door. She turned, looking at him curiously. He offered her a soft smile. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. I don’t have a manual or anything that’ll make it easier for you but if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m just – “ he pointed to his door behind him. “I’m just a knock away.” 

 She nodded, biting her lips on a smile. “Thanks, Jon. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

 

 

 

 **Jon**  

The days following that night came and went uneventfully, to Jon’s quiet disappointment. He was hoping to find an opportunity to talk to her after that conversation they had. He can’t help feeling partly responsible for whatever she’s going through now.  

Logically, he knows that the whole thing that happened with Margaery and Joffrey probably has nothing to do with it, but still.  

“They think she’s here to sell her family’s estate,” Sam cut into his thoughts.  

“What?” Jon asked distractedly, turning his attention back to Sam. 

His friend nodded towards the bakery’s window where Sansa is talking to Jonella Cerwyn out on the street. Jon has been staring at her for a good few minutes now so he shouldn’t be surprised that Sam noticed. 

.“You know the one - that big house near Wolfswood?” Sam continued as he handed him a mug of coffee. “Her family hasn’t lived there for years. They think she’s here to sell it. Everyone’s been talking about it.”  

Jon’s head whipped to Sam in surprise. “She owns that place?” 

Jon had always thought the place seemed haunted whenever he passed by it. Don’t get him wrong, there was something striking about the place, but it also just seemed so... sad. 

No place for the living. 

Still, what’s more surprising is the fact that she owned it. He’d always assumed her to be from the South. 

“Well, she sort of owns it. Her family does, but – “ Sam hesitated for a moment, making Jon more curious. “It’s old Northern custom, as head of the family she has the right to it.”  

He understood what his friend meant to imply. If she’s the head of her family, it means her parents are gone.  

He turned to look at her again and saw her finishing up with her conversation with Mrs. Cerwyn before she headed into the grocery store,  

Jon dropped the mug of coffee Sam just handed him and took off without thought. “I’ll see you later, Sam.’ 

He’s not sure what he was thinking, all he knows it that his body was moving in its own volition. He followed her into the grocery with the intention of talking to her, maybe see how she is, but it seemed weird now that he’s doing it. 

“Fuck. What the hell is wrong with me,” he muttered under his breath, feeling like a complete creep. 

He stopped in his tracks, ready to head back out, but that’s when she notices him. Fuck.  _Fuckfuckfuck_. 

“Jon. Hi,” she called, to his surprise. He turned to her, smiling nervously. “You shopping?” 

He grabbed a stray cart near him. “Uh. Yeah. I ran out of dog food.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “You have a dog?” 

“Well, not really. He’s a Direwolf, but a dog is close enough.” She gave him a funny look, like she doesn’t believe him, and he almost squirmed in place. Instead he cleared his throat. “Um, what are you buying?” 

“Baking materials,” she told him as they headed into an isle. She pointed to the left. “I think the dog food is that way.” 

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. She’s looking at him like she sees right through him and what else was he supposed to do? 

“Okay, you caught me. I lied.” 

She snorted. “I knew it. The Direwolf gave it away. That’s an extremely rare breed, even in the North.” 

“Wait, no. I do have a Direwolf. His name is Ghost and he’s an asshole sometimes, I meant – “ He stopped, letting out a strained laugh. “I was lying about running out of dog food. I saw you come in here and I wanted to see how you were.” 

She still looked skeptical. “So you want me to believe you have an actual Direwolf.” 

He realized then that it’s an attempt to change the topic. _Idiot_ , of course she doesn’t want to talk about it. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking quick. “You bake?” 

“I used to. I haven’t done it in a while, though.” 

He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling so obvious. “Need any help? I mean – only if you were looking for some company?” 

“Don’t you have work?” 

“Day off,” he replied. “It’s your lucky day.” 

“ _My_ lucky day?” 

He grinned, teasingly flexing his arms and fingers. “If you must know, I’m an expert in the kitchen.” 

No. He’s really not. 

Sansa finds out in about five seconds after they started preparing the ingredients. 

She laughed. “I thought you were an expert?”  

“Did I say that? I meant I was teachable,” he said, smiling sheepishly.  

She shook her head in amusement and thankfully didn’t kick him out. Instead, she gave him instructions on what to do. 

 

“You – uh... you live here,” he said as they were cleaning up.  

The lemon cake batter is in the oven and they have some time before it’s cooked. He figured it’s the right time to confirm the fact.  

She gave him an amused smile. “I thought we established that a few days ago when I moved in?” 

“No, I meant - ” he gave her a sheepish smile. “I thought you were from the South.” 

Understanding dawned on her. “Ah. Right. How did you find out?” 

He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed to admit he’s been talking about her with other people. “A friend, um... mentioned it. Just in passing, we weren’t gossiping or anything, just – “ 

She let out an amused laugh. “I didn’t think you were. It’s fine, Jon.” She paused for a moment, thoughtful. “Jon  _Snow_. What’s the story behind that – if you don’t mind my asking?” 

He studied her and he realized for the first time that maybe she’s just as curious about him. It’s not unlikely. What were the odds of their paths crossing again after King’s Landing?  

It seems their fates are meant to remain intertwined. 

“It was my mother’s name. Lyanna Snow. When I came here I wanted to be someone else. I figured Jon Snow would have less responsibilities, less baggage. No family complications that make his head roll.” He smiled humourlessly. “How about you -- where did you go after King’s Landing?”  

Her guard suddenly went up. “Um. They Eyrie. I had an Aunt who lived there so I stayed with her for a while.” She cleared her throat. “Why Winterfell?” 

Jon’s hand flew up to his necklace, fingers playing with the ring there. “I was looking for someone.” 

He caught Sansa’s gaze following his movement before turning back to meet his eyes, head tilted curiously. “A woman? Is that why you left Margaery?” 

He smiled. “Sort of, yeah.”  

“Did you find her?” 

He shook his head sadly. “No. It seems impossible now, anyway. No one even seems to know who she is.” 

  

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated. :)

**Jon**  

If he’s honest, Jon was expecting the call from his aunt much sooner than it arrived. His father’s tactic whenever Connington failed to get Jon to do anything is complaining to his sister. 

Of all the Targaryens, Jon was the closest to his aunt. They’re close in age, Daenerys being years younger than both her brothers, and they were both outsiders of the family in their own way. 

So, if Rhaegar really wanted Jon to do something, he knows Dany would be the best to get him to agree. 

“This call is a week late. You know that. don’t you?” He said teasingly into his phone. “What does Rhaegar want now?” 

“The same. For you to go home.” 

Jon sighed. “I am home. I thought I made that clear to him when I left?” 

“Jon, your father is just worried about you,” Dany tried to reason. “You’ve been gone for almost a year now and you haven’t even called once.” 

He scoffed. “Oh, and he’s tried calling me, has he? Connington doesn’t count.” 

On the other line, Dany sighed. “Your father is trying in the way he knows how,” She tells him, always the buffer between the two. It’s as though Jon and Rhaegar spoke two different languages and only Dany understood both. 

“Well, I don’t need him to try at all. It’s way too late for that,” Jon waved off, as he usually did. “I’m fine, Dany. If he wants to know, tell him that.” 

“Alright, alright. Enough about this. I didn’t call to argue with you.” She paused. “How have you been?”  

“I’ve been good. Still not thinking of moving back to King’s Landing, if you’re wondering.” He said, though he knew he was snapping at the wrong person. 

He can almost feel her rolling her eyes at him. “Jon  _Targaryen_ -” 

He made a face. “Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude,” he cut off before she got angry. His aunt can be pretty frightening when angry. “I’m okay, like I said.” He scratched his head, glancing at the living room as soundrack of the Sandsnake movie franchise began to play. “Dany, I can’t talk for long. I’m, uh, with a friend right now.” 

He knew it was the wrong thing to say immediately as the words left his mouth. 

“A  _friend_?” Dany asked in sudden intrigue. “Who?” 

He can’t lie and say Sam now. If he was with Sam, he would’ve just said so. 

“You - you haven’t met her,” he tried again, stuttering. 

And again -- wrong fucking answer. 

“ _Her_?” He can hear the smile in her voice. “You’re with a girl?” 

He groaned. “Shut up. She’s my neighbor, don’t be weird.” 

“Am I really the one being weird about it?” Dany asked, not incorrectly. “So, tell me about her.” 

“Right now? Seriously?” 

Sansa turned to him curiously and he offered her a weak smile, holding a hand up in apology. 

They started hanging out since that time when he came over her house about a week ago. It had been fun getting to know her and he thought they should do it again. Unfortunately, he’s not that much help in the kitchen, so they decided to just do other things instead.  

It was weird at first, to be honest. She’s completely unlike the kind of girl he assumed she was, back in King’s Landing. She’s bright and kind, she’s extremely thoughtful, and she never seems to run out of a smile. 

Of course, the more he got to know her, the more he understands that it’s just a façade. There’s been a few times he’s seen her smile falter and he wishes he could tell her she didn’t have to pretend. At least not with him. 

But who is he to tell her that? They barely knew each other. And yeah, he wants to get to know her better, but it’s not his place to nose into her business. 

“ -  _Jon_ , are you even listening?” 

Oh, shit. “Uh, yeah. Dany, I have to go. I’ll call you when I can, okay?” 

He walked back into the living room where Ghost has already stolen his spot next to Sansa.  

He snorted. The pair of them had been practically inseparable since their first meeting. Sansa hadn’t believed that he actually had a Direwolf until Jon finally introduced them. He was reluctant because Ghost is generally an asshole when it comes to strangers. But meeting Sansa. Fuck, it’s almost like his pet’s allegiance shifted to her as soon as they met. 

He doesn’t mind, though. They make a cute pair. 

“Sorry, that was my aunt. What did I miss?” He asked, settling on the opposite side of the couch. 

“Not a lot,” Sansa said, handing him the bowl of popcorn distractedly.  

She’s on her phone, which is only slightly weird because he rarely saw her checking her phone unless she had a scheduled phone call with one of her siblings. 

“What is it?” He asked when she started chewing on her lips. She does that when she’s unsure of what to do, he’s learned. 

She looked up at him, still distracted. “Um, nothing. Just - ” She showed him her phone in explanation. Someone’s inviting her out for drinks. 

“Who’s Jeyne?” 

“She used to be my best friend, before I went to King’s Landing. I met up with her and another friend a couple weeks ago after I got here.” 

He nodded, remembering it himself. “Yeah, when you went at Crow’s Nest.” He paused thoughtfully, studying her. “You don’t want to hang out with them?” 

“Well, I already promised we’d watch the entire Sandsnakes franchise,” she reasoned, as though that’s set in stone. “I don’t want to bail on you.” 

“We can watch it some other time,” he assured her. It’s not like he’s going anywhere, they literally live right next to each other. She can come over anytime she wanted and no way in hell is he turning her away. “You can go if you want.” 

She scrunched her nose. “Well, I mean - ” she sighed, letting her back fall against the couch with a thud. “I don’t know. I mean, it went well the first time, but --they’re exactly the same as I remember and I feel like I’ve changed into a whole other person. I just – I don't know how to be the person they remember.” 

She can tell he wasn’t expecting her to understand, but he does. Probably better than anyone. 

Jon remembered her right at the start when she started hanging around Margaery and that whole crowd; He hadn’t been dating Marg then, but Edric would always drag him to all those parties and all he ever did was find a corner to observe instead of partaking in the drunken stupor around him. He remembered thinking how beautiful she looked the first time he saw her smile. Her face literally lit up when she did, her eyes glittering with mirth, back when her smiles used to reach her eyes. 

But he also remembered, very clearly, how that bright smile of hers slowly disappeared the longer she stayed with Joffrey. Jon hadn’t had the highest opinion of her, assuming she was just like Margaery, with her own set of ladders to climb, but he’d hated how Joffrey treated her. 

The Baratheon heir always paraded her around like a trophy, only to disregard her as soon as the fun of it died down. That’s no way to treat anyone. More than once, he’d seen her fighting off her tears, but he never did anything. 

Now he regrets it. Maybe he wasn’t any better than Joffrey for assuming things about her when he barely even knew her. 

“Want me to go with you?” He offered. Maybe he can make up for his mistakes now. “I’m not the best in awkward situations but I can be back-up if you need it.” 

“You don’t have to,” she told him, shaking her head. “It’s my issue, I’ll deal with it on my own.” 

“Hey, I want to help. What are friends for?” He smiled teasingly at her. “We are friends, aren’t we?” 

Maybe not close friends, but. Well. They’re  _something_. Bonded by shared dislike for King’s Landing and other things that tie their paths together. 

She considered the offer for a while, taking a few moments just staring at her phone in thought, and then she finally agreed. 

Apparently, though he’s never officially met them before, he does know Sansa’s friends. They all frequented the Crow’s Nest so he recognizes them through the drinks they frequently ordered from him. Jeyne always alternated between Sex in the City and Strawberry Daquiri, and sometimes when she’s mad she’d order four shots of tequila and drink it in one go. Beth usually sticks with a Mojito. And the guy, Theon Greyjoy, well. He almost always order the most expensive drinks they have available. 

Jon doesn’t have much of an opinion on the guy, but he knows the guys at the bar generally dislike him. 

“Sansa, sweetheart,” he greeted drunkenly by the door as soon as Jon and Sansa arrived, pulling her into his embrace. “Long time no see.” 

They’re at one of the more high-end clubs in town, the one that tourists frequented in.  

Some pop music is blaring on the speakers and the dance floor is filled with drunken reverie, crowded by people grinding against each other. Jon will have to say he’s never been there before; he’s partial to the more laid-back setting when he’s out drinking.  

“Theon, I see you’ve not changed at all,” Sansa replied with a laugh. 

He grinned. “Well, I wouldn’t want my father to die of shock if I ever changed.” He turned to Jon then. “Oh, wait. I know you. Crow, right?” 

That’s what people call the bartenders from the Crow’s Nest. “Jon Snow,” he said, offering a hand politely. 

“Pleasure,” Theon said loudly, shaking his hand. “How do you know our Sansa?” 

“We’re neighbors,” he replied simply, not offering any more explanation than that. 

The place reminds him of King’s Landing. Clubs like this were almost in every corner back in the Crownlands, and Margaery loved to drag him around it all. Not because she wanted to spend time with him, of course, but because of the paparazzi always milling about those places. 

He turned to Sansa, catching her wrinkle her nose. “Reminds you of King’s Landing, doesn’t it?” 

Her voice is low enough that only he hears it as Theon Greyjoy led them to their table, and Jon couldn’t help but agree. “I never did like going to places like this.” 

“You never seemed to like going places with loud music playing,” she noted in recollection. “But you always went, anyway. You must’ve really liked Marg.” 

He opened his mouth to deny it, because that wasn’t the case at all, but he didn’t realize that they’ve already reached their table and Sansa was suddenly dragged into enthusiastic hugs by her friends. 

His and Margaery’s relationship had been clear from the start, though they never actually talked about it. He may have been the youngest of his siblings and an illegitimate son besides, but he was still Targaryen by blood. And that alone held power in the South. 

That was probably the only thing Margaery Tyrell liked about him.  

In truth, she probably would’ve gone for his brother, Aegon, if she thought she had a chance at all. But her brother wasn’t an idiot, he would’ve seen right through her from the start and shooed her away. 

Jon did, too, but he had his own reasons; she was still a Tyrell, after all, and that name had meaning in the South, too. He thought Rhaegar would be pleased. And that had been the mutual agreement between them; he’d let her drag him around where people could see to help her reputation and he brought her to family dinners and work events to make his father look good. 

 

“What is it with you and lemons,” Jon asked over the music as they stood by the bar, waiting for their orders. Bourbon and a Lemon Margarita. 

Sansa grinned at him over her shoulder. “What’s wrong with lemons?” 

He’d noticed a pattern in her drinks all night; different as each cocktail may have been, there was always lemon in it. 

“Nothing. You just seem to like it a lot,” He noted, the bartender coming back with their orders. 

She thanked the bartender and handed him his drink. “That’s because I do like it a lot. It’s my favorite.” She paused, turning to look at him before they headed back to the table. “Thank you. For tonight, I mean. I don’t think I’ve said. You didn’t have to do this.” 

He shrugged. “It’s fun.” 

The night had gone better than Jon expected, he’ll have to admit. He still prefers a quieter surrounding, but this wasn’t bad. Her friends, while a bit too interested in the glamour of the South and kept asking her about King’s Landing and how great it must’ve been to live there, obviously meant well. He can tell they’re trying with Sansa, and he can also tell that she appreciates it.  

She raised an eyebrow in surprise, tipsy herself now. “You? You, whose face turns sour every time Margaery so much as breathes the word  _party_? You’re having fun?” 

Not for the first time, he’s surprised just how much she’s noticed these little things about him from the past. He’s not all too different, surely, having remembered all her quirks as well, but it felt odd that they were both paying this much attention to each other without knowing it. 

“Yeah, yeah. Well,” He rolled his eyes jokingly in reply before offering her a grin. “You’re not bad company, Stark.” 

 

 

 **Sansa**  

Sansa groaned, her head throbbing painfully as she moved, There’s ringing in her ears, and somewhere in the distance. She can’t tell. 

“Fuck,” she complained, patting the bed blindly in search of her phone. 

 _Gods_ , how much did she drink last night? 

Her hands finally made contact with her phone and she answered it without thought, still half asleep. “What?” 

“Good morning to you, too,” said by an amused voice. 

She frowned and pulled the phone away for a second to check the ID. “Gods, sorry, Arya. Good morning, what’s up?” 

“Nothing. I just wanted to check in,” her sister said, sounding amused. “Did you have fun last night?” 

“Uh. I guess. Why?” She sat up slowly, trying not to worsen her state. 

“Who was that boy you were with?” 

“What boy?” 

Maybe it’s because it’s still too early in the morning or maybe it’s because she’s awfully hungover, but her sister isn’t making any sense. 

Arya scoffed. “Don’t try to deny you were with a boy. Just because you don’t check your social media, doesn’t mean people stop tagging you to stuff. You were out with your friends last night, weren’t you?” 

“ _Oh_. Oh, yeah,” She replied, finally understanding what Arya meant. “Did Jeyne post pictures?” 

“No. Theon did,” Arya answered. “So? Tell me. Who’s the boy?” 

Sansa groaned, stretching slowly. “I already told you about him, remember? It’s Jon.” 

“4B? That’s him?” Arya asked incredulously. “Since when did you start going out for drinks with 4B?” 

“Seven hells, don’t talk so loud,” she complained, rubbing her head. “And it’s not a big deal. Jon and I are... we’re friends.” 

“Right. You barely know the guy,” Arya reminded her, not incorrectly. “What’s his name on facebook?” 

“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “Why?” 

“So I can stalk him, duh,” Arya said nonchalantly, but it sounds as though she’s already began. 

“Well, like I said - I don’t know.” She said again, standing up to head to the kitchen. 

They switch topics soon after that and she’s glad for it. She doesn’t know why she didn’t just tell Arya about knowing Jon from King’s Landing and the history they indirectly share with each other; all she knows is that she’d like to keep it to herself for now. 

Later in the afternoon, she headed out to visit the house. She was a little drunk and a lot emotional the last time she went there, so she promised herself to get a better hold of her emotions this time. 

She’s a pro at that, after all. 

Jory greeted her at the gate, surprised by her arrival. “You should’ve said you were coming. I would’ve had someone fetch you with the family car. You shouldn’t be going places on your own.” 

She rolled her eyes good naturedly. “I can walk, Jory. I literally live a block away. Stop being so worried.” 

It had been Jory who was with her father the night he died; in fact, he was the one driving the car on the way home when he lost control of the brakes and crashed. 

Then, not long after that, her mother and brother had died on his watch, and Sansa knows he’d never quite forgiven himself. 

He was barely able to show his face at the funeral two years ago, and only came after she and Arya had visited his home and told him that they didn’t blame him and dragged him there. They didn’t have a lot of family left to them, but Jory would always be a part of it. 

It hadn’t been his fault, anyway. He was only human; he did the best he could and the things that happened were beyond his control. Sansa could understand that. 

As soon as she’s inside the house, she headed into her room. That seemed like the best place to start; she could deal with seeing her old room and boxing up her things and the memories that came with it, much less so with the others. 

She doesn’t realize hours have passed until much later when she grabbed her phone to check. 

She made a face when she saw that she'd missed calls from Arya and proceeded to check the texts she left. 

 **Arya**    
Sansa   
San, you aren’t answering your phone. You okay?   
San???   
SAAAAAAAN   
Did something happen???????   
??????   
I just called Jory. You’re at the estate??   
Gods   
call me when you read this   
 

She apologized profusely, explaining that her phone had been on silent so she didn’t notice the missed calls and promised to unmute her phone from then on. Sansa texted all this in lieu of calling to assure her sister that she’s alright because she knew her sister would be pissed and she didn’t really feel like getting scolded at.  

Arya’s been worried about her since the Vale and she can’t really blame her sister. It must not have been easy for Arya, getting a call from her older sister, crying through the phone and saying nonsensical things like she’d gone crazy.  

When she finally decided to head back home, Jory insisted on having one of the guards drive her back, but she waved it off. 

“I’ll be fine,” she told him. “And I need a bit of fresh air, anyway.” 

She knows her expression must’ve said it all because Jory finally let it go. He sighed. “Call if anything happens, okay?” 

“I will,” she promised. 

She thought Jory was being overprotective, but she regretted not taking him up on the ride home when she bumped into a complete stranger on her way home.

“Oh, gods. Sorry,” the guy said apologetically, catching her by the arm so she doesn’t fall. “I wasn’t looking at where I was going.” 

Sansa shook her head. “It’s fine, I wasn’t looking, either.” 

“Still, it’s my bad.” He paused. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you new in town?” 

She stepped back awkwardly. The last thing she wanted was to get hit on by a total stranger. “Uh, yeah.” 

He smiled. She can tell he’s trying to be charming, but something about him was unnerving. It didn’t help that his eyes reminded her so much of the malicious gleam in Petyr’s eyes. 

The thought makes a chill run down her spine. 

“Sorry, I’m being rude,” The man said before offering her a hand. “I’m Ramsay. Ramsay Bolton.” 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to keep you guys hanging for long so here's an update. Hahaha.

**Sansa**  

 _“I’m Ramsay. Ramsay Bolton."_ He introduced, smiling brightly at her. 

He seems friendly enough, but Sansa has become wary of strange men who smiled as self-assuredly as he did. 

She swallowed before briefly shaking his hand. “Sansa.” 

“Nice to meet you, Sansa,” he said, moving much closer than she’s comfortable. “How about I buy you a drink? As an apology for bumping into you like that.” 

She was shaking her head before he could even finish his sentence. “That’s not necessary. I'm fine.” 

She started to walk in the direction of her apartment, but he doesn't seem to have the intention of leaving her alone. Instead, he started to walk beside her, matching her step for step. “How about I walk you instead? Where are you headed? Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be walking home alone. Who knows what could happen?” 

 _This. This could happen_ , she thought gravely. She could almost feel her phone burning a hole through her jeans. Jory had told her, hadn’t he? She’s tempted to take her phone and dial him, but she’s not sure how the stranger would react to that.  

Sansa breathed in through her nose, summoning a calm from gods know where. Having lived in King’s Landing for years, guys coming onto her is something she’s dealt with before, but it doesn’t mean it gets any easier. 

She feigned a smile. “You know what, I think I’ll take you up on that drink. The Crow’s Nest sound okay?” 

He smirked, evidently pleased to be getting his way. She tried not to show her discomfort, but it may be a losing battle. There really is something about him that’s unsettling. 

“Sounds great. After you.” he said, waiting for her to move. 

She straightened her back, trying to walk as confident as she can.  

 _You will not frighten me_ , she thought to herself, forcing the words to be true. Jon’s bar is only a couple blocks away from where they are and the sooner she gets there, the safer she’ll feel. 

As they walked, Sansa could feel Ramsay’s eyes on her. She pretended not to notice, but she hasn’t felt this afraid since that night in the Vale. Petyr had been just as insistent, hadn’t he?  

She could feel her fingers start to shake, recalling that night.  _The thickness of the air. The quickness of her heartbeat. How strange it felt when metal collided against flesh. And the blood, gods. She didn't think he'd stop bleeding._  

She tried to shake off the thoughts, tucking her hands inside her jeans so Ramsay wouldn’t notice. 

Sansa let out a sigh of relief when The Crow’s Nest finally,  _finally_ came into view. The walk had seemed to last forever and she couldn’t get way from the man soon enough. 

There’s a small crowd outside the bar and she vaguely recalled Jon telling her that Thursdays are for open mic. They wait outside for a bit, but they’re let in pretty quickly.  

The inside is pretty crowded as well, but she feels much better as soon as she spotted Jon behind the bar. She’s glad to have back-up, worse comes to worse. Somehow, she just trusted that he would help her out if needed, no questions asked. 

“I see a free table right there,” Ramsay told her, grabbing her hand to lead her away. She sucked in a deep breath. 

“How about we order first?” She asked lightly, subtly pulling her hand away. She smiled sweetly, trying to hide the anxiety just simmering below the surface. “I see some vacant seats by the bar.” 

He narrowed his eyes at her but followed her regardless. 

Jon’s serving another customer when they get to the counter, so she has to wait a moment before he finally turned to her direction.  

“Sansa,” he said in surprise, brows creasing in worry just before his gaze landed to the man next to her. 

She inhaled, forming the right words in her mind. “Jon, this is Ramsay Bolton. Um, we bumped into each other out on the street and he  _kindly_ offered me a drink. Ramsey,” She feigned another smile, nodding towards Jon. “This is my friend, Jon.” 

“Ah. Ramsay Bolton, nice to meet you,” he offered a hand cheerfully across the counter but Jon only stared at it until he took it away. 

There’s an unreadable expression on Jon’s face as studied the other man, but it’s gone the moment he turned to her. “What are you having, then?” 

“I’ll have a tall glass of beer,” Ramsay replied, all too happily, just as Sansa said, “I’ll have water.” 

Ramsay frowned at her immediately. “Are you sure, Sansa?” 

“She’s sure,” Jon answered for her, voice gruff and firm.  

He placed the glass of water in front of her pointedly and then started on Ramsay’s drink. She sipped on the drink gratefully, glad to have an excuse not to speak. 

“I’m sorry, did I miss something?” Ramsay asked with faux-innocence not a moment later. “I thought I was just being polite, but you seem uncomfortable.” 

She’s familiar with this sort of midgame; Petyr used to spout the same manipulative sentiments, too. 

“Sorry. I’m just not much of a drinker.” 

Ramsay’s lip pulled up into a satisfied smirk. “Well, if you're only having water that means I still owe you a drink.” 

 _Trap_ , her mind warned her. She's just about to respond when -- 

“Water’s five dragons,” Jon cut in, glaring at Ramsay unabashedly. “Now you’re even.” 

Ramsay’s eyes lit up dangerously on Jon, a strange look on him, then he laughed. He took out a few bills from his pocket and dropped it on the counter before turning to Sansa in amusement. “I’ll see you around, Sansa  _Stark_.” 

Raising his beer in cheers, he finally left, and Sansa felt like she could finally breathe again. 

“Thanks.” she breathed out in relief, Jon watching her in concern. 

“Are you alright? Did he try anything?” 

“No. I’m okay now,” she said, offering him a reassuring smile. She doesn’t quite feel relaxed yet, but it helps to know that Jon was there. 

He stared at her for a moment, wholly unconvinced by her reply. “Give me a second.” 

Jon walked over to one of the bartenders and started whispering something to him. The other bartender nodded as he replied. Sansa couldn’t hear what was being said, try as she did to read their lips. It takes a couple of minutes, but the conversation ended with Jon patting the other guy on the back. 

“I owe you, man,” Sansa heard him say, just before he stepped out behind the counter. 

She’s confused even as he stood in front of her, holding a hand out.  

“I'll walk you home,” he explained, not waiting for her to ask him what he’s doing. 

“Jon, you don’t -” 

“Sansa, I know I don’t have to.” he cut off, evidently aggravated. She does tell him the exact thing often, convinced she should know how to take care of herself. “I still don’t want you bumping into any more guys tonight. Just let me take you home, yeah?” 

She stared at his hand for a second before slipping her fingers into his. “Alright, fine.” 

He led her out of the bar, their hands securely intertwined. He nodded at the bouncer out front, promising that he won’t be gone long, and then they’re on their way to the apartment. 

Their walk is quiet, but she doesn’t mind. Her mind is still reeling at how easy – how comfortable – it feels to have their hands intertwined like that. She’s never felt this safe with a man, not once. 

Sansa thought of how easily she’d dismissed Jon as an uncaring person all those years ago whenever he left Margaery’s side to sulk on a corner. She’d thought that she and Marg were on the same boat, stuck with men who didn’t care much for them. But Margaery didn’t seem to mind it much, did she? She didn’t even really seem to care about Jon, either.  

And getting to know Jon as she’s doing now, he’s far from the uncaring man she first assumed him to be. 

 She turned to look at him next to her. He’s got a determined expression on his face, the most imposing she’s ever seen him. He’s doing it for her benefit, so no one would try to come up to them. At the same time, he’s comforting rubbing circles on the back of her hand, almost unconsciously, and it feels nice.  

When they got to the apartment, he fetched Ghost from his place to hers, insisting that his dog stay with her for the night. “He’ll keep you company,” Jon said, to which Sansa almost reminded him again that he doesn’t have to do this. 

Instead she nodded and offered him her thanks. 

“Call me if anything happens,” He told her firmly, holding her gaze so she knows he means it. “I’ll have my phone on me, just in case.” 

Once left alone, she turned to Ghost with a fond smile. “Is he always that bossy?” 

 

 **Jon**  

For the remainder of the night, Jon found himself distracted as he tried to work. All he could think of was Sansa and how she’s doing at home.  

She’d put on a brave face and assured him that she’s fine, but he knew it was only for his benefit. He’d felt her hand trembling as they walked to their apartment building and it didn’t stop shaking until much later.  

He would’ve preferred to stay with her, just to make sure she’s not still shaken up by whatever happened, but he knows she wouldn’t have appreciated it. Hopefully, Ghost is some help in making her feel safer. 

“Hey, man,” Grenn approached once the orders had died down. “What happened earlier?” 

He shook his head. ‘Uh, just - something came up. Thanks again.” He paused, considering to let the conversation end there, but something else is bothering him. “Hey, do you know someone named Ramsay Bolton?” 

Almost immediately, Grenn wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Yeah. That guy’s bad news. Why do you ask?” 

Jon shook his head again, feeling much worse. “Bad news how?” 

Grenn shrugged. “It’s just rumors here and there, but if you’d seen the guy you’ll know he’s bad news, too. There’s just something off about him.” 

 _Yeah_ , Jon thought, recalling his exchange with the man earlier.  _There is something off about him._  

Jon didn’t like how he was looking at Sansa, either. Like she’s prey. 

Before he headed behind to the kitchen, Grenn said, “My advice -- just steer clear of the guy. You don’t need the trouble.” 

A chill ran down his spine. “Hey, Grenn,” he called again. “You mind if I step out early tonight? I just have something to take care of, still.” 

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it, man,” his friend said before finally disappearing into the kitchen. 

He headed home immediately as soon as the crowd at the bar thinned out and he was sure the other guys could handle it on their own.  A part of him is tempted to knock on Sansa’s door to check on her when he gets to the apartment, but he also doesn’t want to disturb her if she’s already sleeping.  

There’s some relief in knowing that Ghost is with her, but he still remained vigilant throughout the night. 

As soon as he thought Sansa was awake, hearing her muffled voice through the thin door come next morning, he made his way over to her place.  

“Morning. How are you?” He asked as soon as she opened the door, worried still, even though he knows that logically, nothing actually happened. 

“Jon,” she said in surprise, just before a frown took over her face. “I’m fine. What - you look terrible. Did you sleep at all?” 

He doesn’t answer her, checking her person just in case she’s still trying to show a strong front. Once he’s sure that she’s okay, he cleared his throat. He’d spent the entire night worrying about her, so, no. He didn’t really sleep at all. 

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, unsure of what to do now. Thankfully, Sansa opened her door wider to let him in. 

“I’m making breakfast. Come on, I’ll give you some.” 

He shook his head. “No, it’s fine. You don’t have to.” 

She gave him a smile, a small tentative one. “How about we just agree that we just want to do some things, even if we don’t have to.” 

His lips tugged up, already heading in. “Alright. Agreed.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you [archmaestergilly ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/archmaestergilly/pseuds/archmaestergilly)for this incredible [artwork!](http://archmaestergilly.tumblr.com/post/183881278094/fics-read-in-2k19-1-pulling-my-weight-in-gold-by)

**Sansa**  

As difficult as it was for her, Sansa spent the next few days going back to the estate in order to continue what she’d already started. The estate had been left abandoned for years, it’s time she faced it, now that she’s back in Winterfell. 

She still hasn’t ventured into the other rooms, taking her time with cleaning out her old space. If she’s honest, some part of her is scared to do more than that. It feels wrong to be doing this; it’s as though she’s removing traces of her family ever living there.  

She reminded herself that it’s necessary to do so, if she wanted to move forward with her life; if she wanted her siblings to move forward. 

From the corner of her eyes, she sees Bran squinting at his screen, trying to make out her surroundings from her video feed. “San, where are you?” 

She hadn’t told him and Rickon what she’d been doing, unsure of how they’ll react, but her brother called her while she was at the estate, and she didn’t want to miss his call. She barely got to talk to him as it is, with him and Rickon so busy with school. 

“I’m uh – I'm in my room. At the old house.” 

At that, Bran’s brows rose up. “You are?” 

“Yeah. Just cleaning out some of my stuff,” she said, holding up an item she was holding to confirm her statement. 

Sansa has made very slow progress with her task, constantly trapped by memories she kept finding in her room. Most of the stuff there felt like properties of a whole other person, but she’d find an item she used to love and she’d think,  _oh_.  _This room_ _was_ _my kingdom and these things were my treasures_. Now they’re only things she needs to let go of. 

Slowly, she could see Bran start to smile. “I’m jealous. I wish I could be there, too. I miss my old room.” 

Sansa looked away, unsure what to say.  

Of the four of them, Bran and Rickon had been the least pleased about moving away. They hadn’t wanted to leave Winterfell, insisting that they had to remain home where they belonged, but they didn’t have much choice in the matter. Their parents entrusted the boys to Uncle Benjen in their Will and he worked as a Ranger up North, so he couldn’t just move to Winterfell. 

“You can visit when your break starts,” Sansa offered, smiling at her brother. 

She still can’t wrap her mind around how much he’s grown in the last couple of years; he’d only been fifteen before moving away to the New Gift, still a growing boy then. Now, at seventeen, he’s almost a man grown. 

“Definitely. Uncle Benjen won’t be able to say no since you’re there. He might even let us live with you.” 

“Is Rickon there?” She asked, a subtle bid to change the topic. 

Much as she loved her brothers and missed them terribly, she’s not too sure she’s fit to raise them. She could barely take care of herself, hard as she constantly tried. 

“Yeah. He’s on his way up, he was just getting food.”  

She frowned. “Are you guys home alone?” 

“Yeah. But Uncle Ben has his friends next door watching us, don’t worry.” Bran assured. 

She nodded. “How are you, by the way? How’s school?” 

“School’s good. My grades are up. Rickon failed in drama class,” he added with a smirk, just as Rickon entered through the door behind him. 

“Braaaan,” he complained upon entering, trying to balance the two plates of food and a pitcher of water he’s holding. “Why would you tell Sansa that?” 

Sansa tried to hide her own smirk, going for an indignant look. She has to be the adult, after all. “You failed drama class? I thought that was your favorite?” 

“I only failed because the new drama teacher is weird,” Rickon muttered, setting down his food. “She always ends the class by reminding us that the night is dark and full of terrors. Who does that?” 

Sansa snorted just as Bran burst out laughing. 

“She’s from Asshai.” Bran told her, which does explain it a bit, “She moved here a few months ago and took over drama. She seems nice, actually.” 

Rickon scowled indignantly at that last bit and he looked so much like Robb just then that Sansa felt herself freeze on the spot; It’s like seeing a ghost. 

Her brothers don’t notice the shift in her mood as they kept updating her on the goings on in the New Gift, and she’s glad for it. After a while, they end the call, but the look on Rickon’s face gets stuck in her mind.  

Chewing on her lip, she headed out of her bedroom and into Robb’s. Their rooms has always been next to each other, being the first two kids born, so she got there quickly, and opening her brother’s door sent a wave of shock into her. 

It looked exactly as she remembered it, just like everything else in the house. She walked in slowly, holding her breath. She spotted a few picture frames by his desk and her heart started to ache again. There’s a candid photo with her siblings – Robb, her, Arya, Bran, and Rickon – their faces stuck mid-laughter when their mother had taken the picture. Another one is with their parents and Theon Greyjoy, posing elegantly by the foot of the stairs of the house. That was taken just before Sansa left for King’s Landing, during Robb’s high school graduation. 

The last frame is of Robb with his girlfriend, Jeyne Westerling. Sansa never met her, but Robb always talked about her whenever they spoke on the phone. She clearly remembered the last conversation they had about her. 

“She’s the girl for me, San. I’m sure of it.” He sounded so in love. Sansa was still with Joffrey then, abused and suffering, but she was glad for her brother. At least one of them could be happy. “So... will you help me?” 

She didn’t tell her brother that she no longer believed in love and happy endings. Instead, she launched into the different ways he could propose to his girl, feigning enthusiasm about the whole thing. 

She took a shaky breath, looking away from the pictures. What did her mother use to say? 

“ _My boy_ ,” Catelyn Stark would always say with a proud gleam in her eyes. “My Robb’s got a bright future ahead of him.”  

 

Later that night, she found herself standing on the small terrace of her apartment. From where she is, she can almost make out the estate. Standing tall and mighty, the oldest establishment among the rest. It’s dark out, the gray exterior almost a shadow in the distance, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it. 

The knock on her door is what takes her out of the melancholic mood. She headed back inside her apartment and skipped to the door, knowing it could only be Jon. 

"Hungry?” he asked as soon as she opened the door, holding up a bag of what she assumed was food. “Sorry I’m late,” he apologized as she led him in. “I stopped by that Dornish restaurant just outside of town. Figured we might as well be on theme if we’re watching the Sandsnakes.” 

She grinned, flopping down the couch. “You’re strangely obsessed with Dornish culture,” she told him, remembering that Jeyne mentioned him to be from Dorne and the fact that he’d been the one to suggest they watch the movie franchise in the first place. 

Ghost jumped on the couch, settling next to her with his head on her lap. Jon sat on her other side as usual, handing her a drink. “I was born there, actually,” he told her nonchalantly. “And my stepmom is Dornish, too, so it kind of rubbed off on me.” 

“Oh,” she said, unsure what else to say. 

He’s never mentioned his family before – nor has she mentioned her own family beyond her living relatives, for that matter – so she thought the topic was off-limits. But he didn’t seem to mind. 

“I actually saw the Sandsnakes filming a few times when I used to visit. I got to tour the set, too, because of my uncle,” he added, as if only remembering. “It’s why I love the franchise so much. I felt like I had behind-the-scenes access.” 

She laughed. He sounded like such a dork just then. 

The entire franchise is composed of seven films, each one lasting no less than three hours. It’s a lot, and by the time they got to the second film, Sansa found herself dozing in and out of consciousness, until finally falling asleep. 

In the morning when she woke up, the film is still playing on her TV. They had it on a playlist so it would just keep on going, but she’s pretty sure she missed almost the entire thing. 

What she realized next is that she had her head comfortably on Jon’s shoulder, his own head leaning against hers. 

Shit. 

She eased herself up slowly, waking Ghost up in the process, but she headed into her room to try and get some space.  _Gods_ , that was awkward. She headed into the bathroom and washed her face, forcing herself not to overthink it. 

She’ll admit that the last few days with Jon had been... well - she hadn’t missed the light fluttering in her stomach each time she saw him. 

It started that night when he held her hand and led her home; she hadn’t felt anything like that in.. ever. Protected and cared for. Not even Joffrey had made her heart flutter like this, and she fancied herself in love with him at the beginning of that relationship. 

“It’s just a small crush.” she told herself in the mirror, trying to convince herself. “It’s _nothing_.” 

 

 

 **Jon**  

Of all things Jon never expected to find in the mail, a wedding invitation would be top of the list. He wrinkled his nose as he read through the thing.  _We are delighted to invite you to the upcoming union between Houses Baratheon and_ _Tryrell_ _..._  

Sheesh. No wonder Dany had sounded so amused the last time they spoke on the phone, telling him to call her as soon as he got the letter she’s forwarding him. 

He fished his phone out of his pocket to do just that, shaking his head in aggravation. 

“Seven hells, Dany. You could’ve just burned it yourself. You didn’t have to send it to me,” he groaned, opening the envelop again to find a smaller one inside.  

On the other line, his aunt laughed. “You got it? I just thought it would be a good reminder of the life you almost had.” 

He scowled. “Thanks. I hate it,” he said, before borrowing a pen from the front desk. “I can’t believe she’s actually marrying him. Joffrey's a walking nightmare.” 

He skimmed through the RSVP, making sure he read it right before checking the ‘Not Going’ option. No way in hell was he going there; it sounded like torture. An event complete with all the people from King’s Landing that he disliked? An easy no. 

“Well, you’ve met the girl. You dated her, for gods’ sake,” Dany reminded him. “You can’t be that surprised.”  

No, he was not. If anything, he knew this was coming from the moment they publicly announced their relationship and painted Sansa as the obsessive ex-girlfriend who Joffrey was only forced to stay with out of pity. 

He rolled his eyes at the memory of that whole mess, feeling guilty all over again. It still felt like his fault that Sansa got the worse end of that whole scandal. 

Looking over to her mailbox, he wondered if she got an invitation as well. It surely wouldn’t be surprising for Marg to send her one. That girl never knew when to stop.  

 

Theon Greyjoy popped in front of him, a wide smile on his face, sometime during work.  

“Jon, right?” He asked, his words coming out slow, evidently drunk. 

Jon’s not sure he’s ever seen the guy sober; he’s always already drunk whenever he came to the bar. And left even worse than he came. 

He doesn’t reply, only staring until the smile on his face dropped. “You don’t like me, do you?” 

“I don’t really know you.” 

“Right.” He leaned on the counter drunkenly, studying Jon with hazy eyes. “Well, Mr. Bartender, let me introduce myself.” He held a hand to his chest. “I am Theon Greyjoy, the biggest disappointment to have existed in this godsawful world that you’ll ever meet.” He paused to laugh. “In my father’s opinion, at least.” 

 _Ah_. Father issues, Jon thought. He could relate. 

“Pour me your most expensive bottle of Whiskey, will ya?” He asked, patting the counter. “The night is young and so am I. There’s no time to waste being sober.” 

 Jon disagreed with the sentiment, but he did as asked anyway.  

Throughout the rest of the night as he worked, Jon’s attention would often fall on Theon Greyjoy. He’s seated at one of the booths, close enough that Jon could keep watch, entertaining whoever would listen. He’s loud and animated, a bit arrogant in some ways, but Jon couldn’t help but feel sorry for the guy.  

He’s been a bartender long enough to know that no one drank as much as Theon did if they weren’t trying to run away from something. 

Once the crowd has died down and Greyjoy was left on his table, still drunk and all on his own, he seems very much like a lost boy. 

Pyp shook his head when he caught sight of the man. “I’ll bet you five stags he’ll end up passing out on the street,” he said confidently. “Last lime, Thoros found him at the back alley, thought he was dead. Thor doused him in water and the guy woke right up.” 

 

Once the bar has closed, Jon’s left to clean up for the night, and he decided to go over all his tasks first before finally waking Greyjoy up. “Hey. We’re closed,” Jon said, shaking him awake. “Come on, man. Wake up.” 

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Jon cut him off hours ago, but it seems he hasn’t sobered up yet. Greyjoy looked around and laughed until it turned into a sob. 

Jon sighed. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to deal with a patron crying on him, but he still felt some odd sense of responsibility for the guy.  

Jon pulled him up from the seat he’s slouched on, tugging his arm over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you home.” 

Theon laughed again. “I thought for sure you liked Sansa, but I guess I’m your type,” he said mockingly. 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Jon said with a roll of his eyes, leading him out the door. “I’m only doing this because you’re her friend.” 

He dragged his hand to his chest. “Thank you for your pity. Much appreciated.” 

“Where do you live?” 

“Iron Islands. Why, you taking me there? It’s a bit far, I’ll definitely be flattered,” he slurred. 

Jon took a deep breath. “Come on, man. I’m trying to help. Don’t be a dick.” 

Theon snorted. “That’s all I am, brother. No way to stop.” 

 

 

 

 **Theon**  

Theon waking up in some stranger’s apartment is nothing new. Been there, done that, or whatever. What’s new is finding himself face-to-face with a huge as fuck albino Direwolf with blood red eyes. 

“Holy shit,” he cursed, frozen in surprise. 

The animal only kept staring at him, and he’s convinced that it’ll bite as soon as he made a move. 

A whistle suddenly came from a distance. “Ghost, leave the guy alone.” 

Immediately upon command, the Direwolf padded away from Theon. He blew out a breath of relief, turning to the direction of the voice.  

It’s Jon Snow, Theon realized in surprise. He looked around and wondered how the hell he got there, but that’s usually what he thought every time he woke up in some random place. 

“He sat up on the couch, scratching his head. This is new as well, he supposed. Usually, if he ever did wake up in strange apartments, it would be at a place of some girl he’d been with the night before. 

He turned to Jon Snow mockingly. “We didn’t... did we?” 

The guy doesn’t seem amused. Though, to be fair to Theon, he didn’t seem to be amused by anything. 

He walked over to the counter where Jon was sitting and took the empty stool there. “Got any food?” He asked. 

He figured the guy had already helped him, might as well go all out. 

Jon grunted. “There’s cereal in the cupboard.” 

“Cereal?” Theon asked with a smirk. “What am I? Five?” Jon gave him a steady glare and he raised his hand up in surrender. “Cereal it is, then.” 

He stood up and checked the cupboards, finding all he needed to make his cereal. Sitting back down the stool, he asked: “How’d I end up here, anyway?” 

“You wouldn’t tell me where you lived.” 

Theon snorted. “So? You couldn’t have just left me out on the street? How chivalrous of you.” 

“And if you ended up dead on a ditch somewhere then it’ll be ass on the line. I served you the alcohol.” 

Theon laughed. “Let me tell you a secret, Jon Snow. What is dead may never die.” 

Jon only shook his head before he stood up. “I gotta go to work. Lock up when you leave.” 

Theon raised an eyebrow. “You’re letting me stay here on my own? You like me that much?” 

Jon turned to him, not batting an eye. “I don’t know you,” he said again, something Theon recalled him saying last night. “If you do anything out of line, my friend here,” he pointed at the Direwolf. “Is all too willing to test your theory on that whole not dying thing.” 

With that, he’s left alone with the Direwolf.  

He ate his cereal in silence and hung around for a bit, just trying to compose himself. He’ll admit that he tried to look around a bit, sort of messing with the Direwolf to see if he’d actually bite. Then he left to head to his hotel for a shower and some change of clothes. 

Even after a long, relaxing bath and more food in his system, his head is still throbbing as hell, but he’s used to that too. He doesn’t even remember the last time he’s had a clear head. 

He lazed around the hotel for a bit, going over the television and checking his phone. It’s not exactly home, but living at a hotel isn’t all too bad.  

His sister doesn’t appreciate it though, since most of his trust had gone to paying for his room fee, but whatever. He’s the useless son anyway, might as well live up to it. 

Sometime later, he ordered a glass of champagne from room service, and started on his drink. Even later, he found himself stumbling upon the Crow’s Nest again.  

He usually alternated between bars, just so no one finds out how much of a mess he truly is, but he’d been intrigued by Jon Snow and wanted to irritate the guy a little bit more. That’s what Theon was good at; finding people who seemed to care just so he could change their mind. 

“Hello again,” he said with a bright grin as soon as Jon saw him. “Miss me?” 

He rolled his eyes. “You’re cut off.” 

“I haven’t even ordered a single drink yet,” He said before waving it off. “You know I can just go drinking elsewhere, right?” 

Jon crossed his arms. “Go do that, then.” 

“I will. But first, I have a proposition.” He paused dramatically. “You have a spare room. Let me rent it out.” 

“And why would I do that?” 

“Oh, I know you don’t want to and you definitely don’t need to, but you feel sorry for me so I might as well leverage that into an opportunity.” 

Jon doesn’t even take a beat. “No.” 

“At least pretend to think about it.” 

“No.” 

“No, you won’t think about it or no you won’t let me live with you?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Both.” 

“Not even if I say pretty please?” He asked with a pout. 

“Especially if you say pretty please.” 

Theon sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’m just gonna go drink somewhere and pass out on a ditch where I can later die.” 

Unimpressed, Jon Snow only kept staring.  _Well, that was a stupid plan_ , Theon thought and continued walking away. Not that he actually thought it was going to work; Jon Snow’s obviously too pragmatic for that. 

 

“Theon?” 

Theon rose from the floor, trying to stand straight. He might’ve bought a bottle of Rum at a convenience store on his way there. 

He turned around to find Sansa looking at him in confusion. 

“Sansa,” he greeted cheerfully; drunkenly. “What are you doing here?” 

She looked at him as if asking if he’s serious. “I live here.” 

“Oh, right,” he said, vaguely recalling that he knows that fact. “Neighbors with Jon Snow.” 

Sansa frowned. “Yeah. What are  _you_ doing here?” 

Her eyes drifted to the mess he’s made outside of Jon’s door. “Oh, uh - ” He pointed at the door. “I’m trying to convince him to rent out his spare room to me.” 

Sansa’s lips curved up. “...with flowers?” 

He scratched his head. “Is he allergic?” 

Sansa laughed. “You’re drunk, Greyjoy. Come on to my place. Let me give you water, at least.” 

He followed her obediently, leaving the messy arrangement outside Jon’s doorstep.  

“Why do you want to rent out Jon’s spare?” 

“Well, I was doing the math and I realized that the less money I waste on my hotel room, the more I can waste it on alcohol,” He joked before he saw the expression on her face. 

Theon sobered up at the sight of Sansa’s frown. He’d gotten so used to joking about what a mess he is that he’d forgotten for a moment that he was talking to her; prim and proper Sansa who would cry at the littlest things. She was the most sensitive of the Starks, possibly the kindest. He shook his head. What the fuck was he doing there, making her feel sorry for him? She doesn’t need his bullshit. 

He feigned a smile. “I’m kidding. Not about the first part, though. But, yeah.” 

“I have a spare,” she offered.  “I was saving it for the boys in case they visited but you can have it. It’s not like we haven’t lived together before, anyway.” 

 _Right_ , he thought, thinking back to his youth when he’d spent virtually all his time at the Stark estate. That had been the good old days. 

He shook his head. “No. Keep it. I don’t really need a place that bad.” 

“Theon,” she sighed, like she saw right through him. And maybe she could.

He waved it off with a hand, laughing good-naturedly. “Don’t take me too seriously, San. I’m just drunk.” He took the glass of water she;d offered him and drank it in one go. “See. All sobered up now.” 

With that he stood up, ruffling her hair like Robb used to. She used to get so mad about her hair getting messed up, but now she only rolled her eyes in amusement.  

“You’re a good kid, Stark. Your brother would be proud.” 

Later that night, Jon found him sitting by the stairs of his apartment building. Before he could even say anything, Theon raised his hands up. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to beg for your room. I give up.” 

Jon stopped in front of him, an unreadable expression on his face. “Then what are you doing here?” 

Theon sighed, leaning back. “Just reminiscing about the old times. You probably won’t believe it but I didn’t use to be like this.” He let out a humorless laugh before shaking his head. “You take care of her up there, yeah? I can tell you like her so treat her right.” He pointed a finger at Jon. “I may be a drunken mess of a thing but I know people from all the low places, I could get one of them to kick your ass if you hurt her.“ A beat. “That’s what her brother would’ve done.” 

Jon sighed and took a seat next to him.  “You knew her brother?” He asked the obvious, possibly just for the sake of conversation. 

Theon laughed, thinking of his oldest and bestest friend. How could he not have known Robb Stark, the pride and joy of the North. He was many things, Robb. Dutiful son. Doting brother. Incredible friend. An even more incredible business man.  

He never should’ve died before his time; it shouldn’t have been his fate. 

“He was my best friend,” Theon inhaled the cold air. “His parents fostered me in when I was young, so he’s more my brother, really. I can’t even count the times I wished he really was my brother.” Theon wiped off the tears on his face. “I should’ve been the one who died, not him. He could’ve done so much with his life.” 

“If he cared about you as much as you obviously care for him then I'm sure he’d hate to see you this way.” 

Theon rolled his eyes at that. “Well, he’s dead. He won’t have to see me this way.” 

Jon doesn’t say anything to that. They’re quiet for a while until finally he spoke up. 

“Where do you live?”  

Theon opened his arms. “The world is my kingdom,” he said with a laugh. “I live nowhere and everywhere.” 

“Fuck’s sake,” Jon cursed, turning to him with a glare. “Just be serious for a moment and answer my damn question, will you?” 

Theon rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. You’re no fun.” 

“We hardly know each other. Why do you want to live with me?” 

“So that if I died, maybe someone would actually notice,” he answered simply, sighing before he continued. “Instead of just rotting away in some dark hotel room until my father finally decides to stop paying for it. Or maybe I just don't want to be alone. ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So maybe the Theon bit was highly influenced by my hangover from The Umbrella Academy.


End file.
